Dallas
by M.D. Owen
Summary: Technology strike. Revenge on three brothers. 2010 TMNT Awards: Honorable mention, Best Comedy.


I didn't like the sound of that buzz developing from the back of the computer. Seeing that my monitor was completely dark left a gaping hole in the pit of my stomach. What in the shell happened to my machine? No humming, no lights from it.. just a weird buzz howling from the back of my desk. Looking behind my desk was like sorting through a plate of spaghetti. Yeah, I should work on my organizational skills, but first I needed to get to the root of this trying problem.

Wires, wires, buzz, thud, whack, and too many damns to count later, I knew it was time to crack open the case and troubleshoot the hardware. Usually I'm patient as a saint, especially when it comes to my equipment, but it's been a crappy day and we were out of coffee. And why were we out of coffee? Because I have three other brothers who don't realize I need my brew to get through problematic nights. Who else makes sure they can sleep all safe and comfy at night? Who repairs their machines? Who makes the cool gadgets? They gotta have their illegal cable for their stupid wrestling on Pay Per View on Monday nights. I can't even watch Mythbusters' reruns.

If I went on strike, what would they do? There is more to me than a damn screwdriver or wrench set. Do you know that's what Mikey gave to me at Christmas one time? A screwdriver. We were kids at the time, but I wanted a race car set. I wanted what my brothers had, and I remember sobbing in my room and cuddling the screwdriver. We've spent many lonely nights together, that slotted screwdriver and I.

If you asked me where it was now, I would have no freaking clue.

And one Christmas I got the "No, I Will Not Fix Your Computer" shirt from all three of them. I hugged Master Splinter once I found that his present wasn't the same shirt. It was actually something cool from him and April. I can't remember for the life of me what it was.

My name is Donatello and I digress.

Today, I wasn't going to be a nice guy anymore. Something was wrong with my computer, and my nerves were shot. I have my bad days, too. No coffee in my veins, I kept stubbing my toe, and the obnoxious sounds of Mikey's video game trickling from the other room fueled my frustration. I could go into great detail about my crappy week, but you want to know the good stuff: my revenge on each brother. One of them had to have busted my machine, and it was time I busted something of theirs.

Raphael's motorcycle was in the shop, and it was shiny and glossy like a baby's bottom. He spends hours on that thing and if one part purrs out of place, my name is screamed from the top of his lungs. Various times I would be in the middle of an important work, and my body would be literally dragged by Raphael into the shop. Peering at his beautiful bike and knowing the sweat, blood, tears, and name calling he puts into it, my foot happily kick that piece of annoyance onto the ground. Oh, the clattering and the beautiful echoes of destruction soothed my ailing heart.

Blow that in your pipe, "Big Dawg".

We all chipped in and bought Leonardo an E-book reader a couple of months ago. I always wanted to hack that thing; it peels away at my very core. So now, when he starts reading, a music application will rotate Christmas and islander songs. He'll never know how to turn it off. I'm also positive he wants to have some other 'enlightened' reading material, too. I could have done a much worse job in hacking that little gadget, but Leonardo doesn't annoy me as much as Raph and Mikey. Still, I'm going to bust a gut when I hear Jingle Bells and he's trying to finish "The Art of War", or some kind of book along that line. The Leonardo Library.

And now Mikey. I unplugged his game console.

"DUDE! I WAS ON LEVEL FIFTY FIVE!" His girl-screeching level maxed out.

"I tripped."

"YOU UNPLUGGED MY GAME!"

I'm writing in all caps because that's how he sounded. I promise. And imagine him dressed as a chicken because those arms sure were flailing.

"Your Black Op zombies and princess tutus can be saved another day. I can't help it if I'm clumsy."

"I'M SHITTING BRICKS!"

And I was shitting rainbows. Deeeelighted to know I could hit a button on Michelangelo the Horizontal.

The war was over. I could crack open my buzzing computer case and know that despite the consequences that were stomping around the Lair and quickly approaching my door, the world felt balanced. Donatello the Slave was no more! Victory. Oh, sweet victory.

* * *

"Hey, Don. Are you wet dreaming?" Mikey's roller coaster voice drummed in my ears.

Reality returned to my senses, and I looked up at a grinning Mikey. He _would_ think I was wet dreaming since you can't dream about anything other than sex, according to him.

"I dreamed of destroying happiness."

Mikey chuckled, slapping me on the back. "You? Destroy anything? RIIIIGHT." All caps again for my annoyance.

When MotorMouth left my work area, I tested my computer. It was fine, humming a satisfactory tune and I immediately shut it off. The week was still crappy, and I was still feeling like I needed to piss in someone's coffee. Well, if we had any coffee.

Instead of following the dream's outline, I left the desk and continued crafting jewelry.

I am officially on strike.


End file.
